A Novel in 300 parts, give or take. Jasfoup the demon uncovers a zombie problem in Laverstone. What do you do when RentoKill refuse to get involved? Dust off your saber, that's what.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 138.09

Loathe as he
was to admit it, he wasn't as fit as he used to be. He huffed softly
and tried to keep up a decent speed, glancing up now and again to
keep at least his sergeant in view if not the damned robot which had
rapidly become a smear of silver among the pines and then nothing.
White was mor concerned about tripping over a root or a rabbit hole
and falling flat on his face. Woe betide him if he broke an ankle out
here. With his mobile phone out of commission he'd have to rely on
Peters finding him and going for help on foot and he could only
imagine the look on the sergeants face in that event. He'd be lucky
if Peters didn't see it as an opportunity for promotion.

He felt the
side stitch creeping in and pressed his hand to his side to alleviate
the pain. He hadn't had stitch in years. Not that he ran very often.
Being generally unfit and overweight had the effect of curtailing
chases before they happen. He preferred to rely on his wits and catch
suspects by the use of bottlenecks and short cuts. He envied kids
these days. What he wouldn't give to be young again.

He stopped
at the bole of an ancient spruce and leaned against it, trying to
breath through the pain. What was it his old PE instructor used to
say? Breath irregularly. Inhale one-two-three, exhale one-two. He
tried that for a few breaths and the pain started to ease off.
Stretching helped, too, though he was relieved no-one could see him
waving his hands in the air.

There was
another thing, too. White racked his brain trying to remember. Oh
yes. Avoid fatty foods before exercise. Did an egg-and-bacon sandwich
count as fatty food? He had to admit it probably did.